An Almost Perfect Vision
by Cold Fire Phoenix
Summary: Jiraiya enjoys teasing those who make too much of themselves; there is no such thing as perfection, and it's better that way.


Ebisu couldn't exactly formulate the _words_ to express his respect for the older man, just as he couldn't articulate his incomprehension concerning the other's perversions. He said as much, in as many words, and was told to lay off the thesaurus and to sit down for a good three hours and _listen._ Ebisu had agreed, but finding three hours free turned into more of a struggle than he had thought possible. Here it was an hour after midnight, and yet another person was going to ask - no, damand - something of his perfection.

"Ebisu-san, would you like some tea?"

Ebisu froze, his mouth already half-open to deliver a scalding remark and challenge, and nodded his head. The sunglasses he wore glinted in the low light, no longer enough to cause questioning in any other than the very young. (Konohamaru, for one, constantly questioned Ebisu's glasses. "What, can't keep a poker face? Afraid I'll really get you if you ever show your eyes? Afraid I'd read you like a book?" Ebisu had refrained from commenting, given how he was filing his nails three trees behind them, and his young student was arguing with a bunshin.)

"Thank you, that would be wonderful."

The other man nodded his head and disappeared again, leaving Ebisu to the small collection of book before him. He sighed, with a curt wave of his hand extinguishing the candles in front of him. He massaged his eyes, admitting to the strain even as he continued to protect them. His sunglasses fell into place and the candles flared to life again as he heard footsteps in the hall. "If you could just leave it by the door-"

"No, not really my style." Jiraiya's voice was unexpected, causing Ebisu to look up and smudge the ledger he'd been examining. He would have cursed, had he been alone - given how he wasn't, Ebisu merly made grumbling noises and shifted the papers in front of him with precise discontent.

Jiraiya sat himself opposite, allowing the tray to settle on the desk with a thump. "Long night?"

Ebisu was about to launch into a lengthy explanation of exactly how long his night had been, but settled for a sigh and a truncated, "Quite."

"Must be hard on you." He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. "Ahh, the benefits of living away from society - no _paperwork._"

"A beaurocratic device which allows us to function with the other nations-"

Jiraiya was chuckling, shaking his head. "I know the _purpose_, Ebisu-san. Simply because these sheets of paper allow us to operate doesn't mean we're operating well, or healthily." The four legs of the chair came to settle on the ground, Jiraiya settling his elbows on the pitted surface of the table. His shoulders were lax in his relaxation, his face free of the worry which was prematurely aging on Ebisu. "How're your eyes?"

Ebisu clutched the pen in hand, startled as he heard more than felt it snap in his fingers.

"That well, hmm?"

"Jiraiya-sama, I would appreciate if you would allow me to do my work." Ebisu set downt he broken pen, looking around for another. Jiraiya held one out to him, and he managed to use a bare minimum of politeness in his mannerisms to accept the utensil. "Thank you."

"You filed that report when we weren't around any more, didn't you? How old were you? Seven? Eight?" Jiraiya mused, watching Ebisu as the other man's lips stretched into a tight frown. "Did anyone make it back from that mission aside from you?"

"They all did." Ebisu penned his beautiful numbers, hand steady though his shoulders twitched as Jiraiya spoke. "And for the sake of clarification, I was eight."

"Barely out of academy."

"Far enough out."

"Youngest member of your team."

"It wasn't unusual."

"Not for the gifted ones, no."

"I've certainly been called worse - are we done here?" Ebisu laid down his pen, pushing back from the table and wiping his hands clear of the ink (which had inevitably traveled to them) on a towel set aside for that purpose.

Jiraiya looked over at the ledger, silent for a moment. Ebisu eyed him, adjusting his glasses in nervousness. "Seems done. Of course, what do I know? I was only here to claim my three hours before I headed out."

Ebisu was surprised - Jiriaya didn't announce his arrivals and departures from what he understood. He must have annoyed the sanin phenomenally to provoke him into staking a claim on Ebisu's time. "Oh. Well. I suppose."

"Great!" Jiriaya pulled several books out of his tunic, setting them on the table with a grin stealing across his face. "I hope you're ready to listen."

An hour and a half later, Ebisu was passed out snoring in the wooden chair, Jiriaya lowering the glasses he was wearing (more show than necessity, he told himself) and regarding the younger man with a sigh. "No respect, no respect." He closed the book, keeping track of the last page he'd skimmed in the rambling dissertation given to a semi-conscious audience. Jiraiya stood, cracking his back as he did so, sighing again. When had he gotten old? No, he wasn't really old. He was simply _distinguished._ Tsunade, on the other hand... He smiled, shaking his head. No, she wasn't any older than he was, but he knew mentioning the "o" word around her was a certain ticket to getting his ass kicked.

Jiraiya wasn't _that_ masochistic.

"You still owe me two hours of appreciation. Or more." Ebisu wasn't stirring. "I could even take your glasses away right now, and you wouldn't know." Though he likely would. Ebisu was tired, but not tired enough.

Still, as Jiraiya placed his books back near his heart, extinguishing the last burning candle (Ebisu had a soft spot for archaic means of lighting, Jiriaya noticed - the man had a romantic somewhere inside) with two wetted fingers, he was curious. Before leaving, he leaned over Ebisu, running his rough fingers over Ebisu's cheekbones, then briefly under the glasses that hid his eyes from the world. Jiraiya inched them upward, breathing evenly, and examining the flesh underneath with keen eyes. The scarring wasn't as rough as Jiriaya had expected, but the tissue still had the snags and imperfection of the burns and cuts of his childhood. Strange, considering what this must have done to Ebisu's vision; still did. Near blind at eight, and slow recovery over the years. Sometimes, Jiriaya wondered how much his own lack had driven him forward - even how much Ebisu missed the perfection of absolute sight.

Though he suspected Ebisu didn't miss anything much at all. He was, after all, perhaps the most perfect shinobi in Konoha. (But everyone knew perfection was impossible.)

So Jiraiya dug around in his pouch, pulling out a familiar tube of ruby-red lipstick, applying it with a smooth, practiced motion. He settled Ebisu's sunglasses back over his eyes, and then pressed his lips to Ebisu's cheek in an exaggerated pout. He nabbed one of the spare sheets of half-used paper, writing a quick note in a flowing, loopy script. "Thanks for last night - you were amazing! - Sweet Ass."

Wiping the remaining lipstick off with his kerchief, Jiriaya smiled wickedly. Ebisu would know better next time - but for now, Jiriaya was off. He only hoped someone suitably annoying found Ebisu before he woke in the morning, and read the note pinned to his vest. Preferably Konohmaru, or even his own student.

Ahh, though he would miss seeing Ebisu's reaction. He had a feeling it would be the most _perfect_ blend of outrage, embarrassment, and superiority. Ebisu was just so fun to tease.


End file.
